It's the morning of my 28th birthday. This is the age I want to stop at. I don't want to get any older, so can time stop now?
Last night I prepared my birthday breakfast. Strawberry stuffed french toast. I slid it into the fridge to sit overnight, so Matt could get up in the morning, throw it in the oven for an hour, and serve me breakfast. He brought it in with a huge glass of chocolate milk (which reminds me, I'm still thirsty)
Thumbelina comes in, complaining that she doesn't want the breakfast. OK, so don't eat it? She swings her arms wide, and the chocolate milk, that I haven't even touched goes flying.
Am.not.going.to.cry. Thank God it's my birthday. Matt cleaned it up.
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